Fiction
Science Fiction
“It is possible to believe that had not the isle of Thera produced the most powerful explosion in human memory, in the very center of Minoan civilization [c.1600 BC], there should have been moon landings by the time of Augustus, and the Saviour….”
Charles Pellegrino
Ghosts of Vesuvius
With immortality only three feet away, Istvan paused to savor the moment. Beside him, cradling a bundle in his arms, sub-commander Arrhachion halted as well.
A heavily cratered gray plain undulated to sharp-edged mountains sliced by the sun into ribbons of light and dark. The menacing peaks—reminding Istvan of rows of sharks’ teeth, perhaps from some extinct monster—showed none of the gentle blurring that softened Earth’s ranges. No clouds wrapped misty arms around their shoulders, no snow crowned their summits.
Despite that, Istvan almost expected a breeze to raise swirling plumes of fine dust, but of course, there was none. He shivered. The landscape was dead, nightmare dead, yet beautiful in a strange, almost hypnotic way.
It took an effort to tear his fascinated eyes away and look up to where stars twinkled like flickers of moonlight on nighttime waves in the blackest sky he’d ever seen. When he swiveled his head, Earth itself swam into view, shining like the famed Queen’s Opal or like the golden bull insignia of the Minoan Empire emblazoned on the lander’s side. The Great Sea spread like an azure stain, surrounded by the green and brown of fertile land. And all along that wonderful, curving coastline were millions of people in their towns and cities, watching him, waiting eagerly to hear what he would say.
The thought made his throat tighten. What would he say to the people of the Empire? What words could he speak, knowing that not only his fellow Minoans but the Assembly of First Citizens and even King Minos the Twenty-fourth in the ancient royal palace of Knossos would hear and remember forever? History would record his speech, replaying it over and over for countless generations to come. This was his moment upon the world stage. He didn’t want to muff his lines.
He took a deep breath to steady his tingling nerves. It was strange that the saying of a few words should be so much harder than the commanding of an epic spaceflight. Well, he’d never been much of a speaker; he hadn’t been chosen for this mission because of his verbal skills.
His thoughts turned toward home, where his wife Evania and his three children would surely be in rapt attention, too. In his mind’s eye he could see them as clearly as if he were with them. Even now, they’d be seated in front of the optiscreen in the sunroom, gazing as he emerged from The Pride of Knossos with sub-commander Arrhachion by his side, and stood here, above the lunar surface, needing to walk down two metal steps to be the first human to set foot on an extra-terrestrial body.
Two steps...just three feet...hardly anything compared to the distance he and his companions had traveled already...
Watching too would be the troublesome Romans who were carving their own empire out of the Western Lands. How they must be smarting to know they had been beaten in the race to the Moon! Romans hated to lose. The Caesar would be seething; the Roman Senate gnashing their collective teeth. Well, what else could you expect from a bunch of upstarts? The Romans had nothing like the antiquity or the glorious history of the Minoans in which to boast. They stole technology, they copied artwork; they fancied themselves the descendents of mythical ancestors; all they had going for them was military prowess.
Istvan felt a swell of pride—pride in being a Minoan, pride in himself.
What would he say?
Fellow citizens, I take this step for you...
Too stilted.
My feet are the King’s...
Too sappy.
“What are you waiting for?” Arrhachion’s impatient voice came over their closed-circuit link.
“Inspiration,” Istvan replied.
“Better hope it comes quickly, Commander. The king is waiting.”
Istvan slowly stepped to the first rung, feeling curiously light in the low gravity despite the bulkiness of his space suit.
Once he reached the surface, the world would never be the same. Of course, it had changed already. Simply reaching the Moon had been a feat in itself. The space race had caused the rival Minoan and Roman Empires to walk an even narrower tightrope of competition and mutual suspicion than ever. Now that the Minoans had claimed bragging rights, how would the Romans respond? Probably with aggression—that was how they normally replied to a challenge. Istvan hoped that this Minoan feat wouldn’t lead to war. Another war. One had been enough.
Not only that, but Minoan society itself had been changing because of the teachings of a rabbi in the Jewish Dependency. The Dependency was under Roman control, but neither that nor the prohibitions of the Assembly had been able to stop the words of one Yeshua of Nazareth from penetrating into Minoan life and thought.
This step marks the dawn of a new era...
Too pompous.
He descended to the next rung. Now, mere inches separated him from immortality.
This is the largest step ever taken by man...
Perfect.
This is the largest step ever taken by man, and I take it on behalf of the King and people of the Minoan Empire...
He could, he thought, safely omit mention of the Assembly. Almost to his surprise, he felt himself moving forward; speaking as he went, he and Arrhachion stepped onto the lunar surface. His boots left imprints in the thin layer of lunar dust.
“...and together we hope and pray for a new era not only for us, but for all humankind.” Istvan closed the link to Earth.
“Pray?” Arrhachion’s voice came over his helmet speaker. “Since when does a true Minoan pray?”
“It was a figure of speech,” Istvan replied.
“Sure.” Arrhachion’s tone betrayed his skepticism.
“Let’s unfurl the flag, shall we?” Istvan said.
Followed by Arrhachion, Istvan walked away from the lander. He felt unusually graceful, and enjoyed the near-floating sensation that the low gravity imparted.
When he was well away from the lander, he halted. “There; we should be far enough away so that the blast from take-off doesn’t knock the flag over. That would make us look bad, wouldn’t it?”
Planting the flag had been allocated to Arrhachion. The younger man carefully placed the tripod stand on a level patch of rock and thumbed a switch. Stiffened by wire rods, the flag unfurled—and there, on the lunar surface, for all see, was the golden bull’s head on a blue background standard of the Minoan Empire. The Minoan bull had whipped the Roman eagle. The two men stepped back, saluted, and, once again briefly opening the link to Earth, recited the oath of loyalty to the king and state.
When they were done, Istvan glanced at the pale numbers of the chronometer glowing unobtrusively on the lower edge of his faceplate, wanting to fix the time in his mind.
The time… He remembered suddenly that some Romans would not be watching the Minoan landing at all. They’d be watching something completely different. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand how people could tune in to such a ghastly event.
“What ghastly event?” Arrhachion asked.
Istvan hadn’t been aware he was speaking aloud—at least it was only the link to Arrhachion, not to Earth.
“You know,” he muttered, “in Judea…”
“Judea? I don’t follow—”
“Yeshua of Nazareth. To be executed today.”
“Oh. The Jewish rabbi,” Arrhachion replied with undisguised distaste. “How a supposedly civilized people can continue to resort to such a barbaric method of punishment as crucifixion is beyond me. Still—”
“Still, what?”
“Well, if you’re going to go around subverting the social order...insulting the rulers...not to mention claiming you’re the son of God...you’ve got to expect these things to happen. I mean, have you ever heard of a Roman emperor tolerating someone else calling himself a king or a god?”
“But look at all the good he did...the ethical teaching…the miraculous cures...”
Arrhachion snorted. “It’s all nonsense! Trick photography. Computer wizardry. The man’s a skilled illusionist, that’s all. And you can hardly walk through Athens without spraining your ankle tripping over ethicists. Besides,” Arrhachion’s voice hardened, “we’re not supposed to know about him.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“You haven’t been watching unauthorized broadcasts, have you, Commander?”
Istvan detected the note of menace under Arrhachion’s question. The younger man, being the ambitious party climber that he was, wouldn’t hesitate to denounce him. Watching or listening to broadcasts from the Roman Empire was specifically prohibited by the Assembly. Even less did Istvan want to implicate his wife. It was she who had first become enamored of the teachings of the rabbi, and somehow procured recordings for him to listen to.
“Word of mouth. Hearsay, that’s all.”
“Mighty foolish hearsay, in my opinion.”
“I wonder...”
“Surely a man of your intelligence isn’t tempted to believe the tales about him, Commander! There’s a reason we dispensed with our gods long ago. Minoan society is the better for being rid of them. We don’t need to introduce a new one. We built our empire without the help of any deity. Gods are for fools...and Romans.” He laughed.
“I don’t regret the loss of the old pantheon, either,” Istvan said.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
No, Istvan thought, he didn’t regret the disappearance of the old gods, who’d served their purpose once, but whose relevance had long since become detached from reality and dissolved into fanciful mythology. But nothing had taken the place of the old faiths, only the coldness of atheism and unbelief. In all honesty, though, he couldn’t see that the Minoan Empire was better off for the exchange, despite the enthusiasm of people like Arrhachion for the death of all gods.
There was a void, and what was to fill it? The materialistic paganism of the Romans, who worshipped power, wealth, and physical gratification? The insular monotheism of the Jews, whose beliefs the religiously tolerant Romans barely tolerated? Some new divine revelation?
All he knew was that something was missing—from the world, from Minoan society, and from himself. He’d hoped—secretly of course, only his wife sharing his inmost thoughts—that perhaps this Jewish rabbi might have had something to offer the world. But the fearsome machinery of Roman justice seemed to have ended that dream.
“I suppose it must almost be over, now.” Istvan could but hope that the rabbi’s death was as quick as possible under the circumstances.
“And that will be an end of it,” Arrhachion replied. “There will be a few hangers-on for a while, no doubt, but without their leader, his movement will soon expire.”
“He said he would rise from the dead,” Istvan commented, more to himself than to his companion.
“Oh, please,” Arrhachion scoffed. “Now that’s going completely beyond the bounds of reason. The man must be insane. I wonder if they considered an insanity defense at his trial?” He chuckled grimly. “I suppose now he’ll have the opportunity to prove his claim.”
“What if he does?”
“If he could raise himself from the dead, he could prevent himself from dying in the first place. It’s not going to happen, Commander.” Arrhachion gestured over the cratered landscape. “Come,” he prompted, “we have a new world to explore. Let’s gather some rock samples instead of wasting our breath discussing religious nonsense.”
“All right. We need samples from both the crater floors and rims, and the mountains as well. Why don’t you tackle the crater over there, and I’ll go for those hills. But remain within visual range at all times, and leave your audio channel open.”
“Understood, Commander.”
They separated, and Istvan headed toward the hills, resisting the urge to take great, leaping bounds. A stumble, a fall, and it could be all over in the blink of an eye—a tear in his suit or in an oxygen tube would spell his death before he could make it back to the lander.
The hills—a low range, not the jagged ramparts that perched menacingly on the horizon—were almost within reach when Istvan’s helmet transceiver crackled to sudden life.
“Commander Istvan!” It was the voice of the lander pilot, Leontiskos. The pilot’s normally soft voice vibrated with strain.
“Yes, pilot officer?” Istvan replied.
“We’ve lost contact with Earth, Commander!”
“Equipment malfunction?”
“Everything here seems to be working perfectly, sir. I ran a complete diagnostic. It’s either interference...or ground control has ceased broadcasting.”
“That’s absurd!” Arrhachion exclaimed, breaking into the conversation. “You must have overlooked something, Leontiskos.”
“I double-checked, sub-commander.”
Arrhachion cursed. “Then check again!”
“Leontiskos knows his job, Arrhachion,” Istvan said, sternly. “Something must be seriously wrong on Earth.” Dire imaginings raced into his mind. Had the embarrassed Romans retaliated already? Several stations had been tracking the moonship. Surely the Romans couldn’t have taken out all the relays at once. His training took over and he forced himself to be calm—that was why he was in command, and not a volatile man like Arrhachion.
He said, “I’ll be right there, Leontiskos. You return to the lander, too, Arrhachion. The rocks can wait.” He turned away from the hills and retraced his footsteps, once again forcing himself not to rush in dangerous haste. In the distance, he saw Arrhachion also returning, and soon rejoined his companion.
As they reached the lander, Istvan looked toward the opal orb of Earth. And froze. For a split second he thought dust had settled on his visor, but no. The opal was blemished. A dark spot marred its glistening surface, growing larger even as he watched. A dark spot toward the northeastern end of the Great Sea.
He raised a gloved hand and pointed. “Arrhachion, look!”
Arrhachion half-turned, gasped, and swore.
“What do you think it is?” Istvan wondered.
“Thera!”
“Of course!” Afraid that his legs would collapse, Istvan groped for the railing and steadied himself. For decades—centuries—scientists had been predicting that the great volcano would erupt, as it had come close to doing some sixteen hundred years ago. But the warnings had invariably failed to materialize. Always before, the huge, brooding mountain had relaxed and its enormous energies dissipated. There had been reports of minor tremors over the past month, but nothing out of the ordinary—at least, according to the official government news sources. Istvan was never sure how far they could be trusted.
The black spot enlarged, like a monstrous cancer eating away at the world with unbelievable speed. If it had been a recording, Istvan would have thought he was watching time-lapse photography. But he wasn’t.
His vision blurred, spun, and Istvan realized that he wasn’t witnessing an ordinary eruption, or even an extraordinary eruption, but an explosion the likes of which had never occurred during the memory of mankind. It was inconceivable, unimaginable, an explosion to make all the combined weapons of warring humanity appear no more than sticks and stones. No god could have inflicted a more severe judgment.
The black spot was a raw, open wound, as if the Earth had been pierced to her vitals.
The isle of Thera must be gone, erased from the face of the earth. The towns and cities of Crete, indeed those of the entire coastline of the Great Sea, would soon be obliterated by surging tsunamis. Perhaps some lucky people might escape if warned in time, but if communications were down...
“My wife,” he moaned, “my children...”
“Knossos,” the unmarried Arrhachion whispered his own thoughts. “The Empire. The Roman dogs won’t hesitate to take advantage of us now.”
Assuming they aren’t incapacitated themselves, Istvan thought, before his mind raced on. An explosion of this magnitude...what if the blow were a mortal one to the Earth? What if the dust spewed high into the atmosphere by the mushrooming black cloud brought a long winter upon the Earth...? There would be famines, plagues, wars, as the survivors fought for their very existence. Who would care about three men marooned on Earth’s moon?
“We’re doomed,” he said.
Arrhachion’s helmet moved, and the younger man stared at him. “Civilization might collapse, but humanity will survive—”
“No,” Istvan said. “I meant us. You, me, Leontiskos. With the dust...the atmospheric and oceanic disturbances...without communications…the odds are stacked against us surviving re-entry. We haven’t the supplies or the oxygen to wait for conditions to settle down.”
“No! I don’t believe it!” Arrhachion blurted. “Leontiskos, can’t you get through?”
Istvan tuned out the conversation. He knew he should re-enter the lander, should try to think of a way to get his companions home or die trying, but he couldn’t will himself to do it. Rather than fear, he felt a sort of numb acceptance flow over him. Without Evania and the children, what did the world, did life, hold for him anymore?
They were dead, just as the Jewish rabbi was dead.
He said he would rise from the dead...
Could the impossible be true? The unimaginable had just happened on Thera. Could the inconceivable happen in Judea? He felt a strange stirring in his breast, no more than a glimmer that perhaps the aching void could be filled.
If it is true, Istvan prayed, Rabbi, remember me...
The blackness spread and spread, and long tendrils curled across the Great Sea, reaching toward the east, toward Judea and Egypt…
A glimmer of light to his right caught his attention. He tore his eyes away from the bleeding, agonized earth. He blinked. Stared. Surely it couldn’t be...but what else could it be...?
Reflexively, he glanced at the bio-display unit strapped around his wrist. His vital signs were normal...suit temperature, pressure, and oxygen levels were normal...
He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them again. No change.
“Arrhachion,” he said, “do you see? Look, man!”
“What, Commander?”
“Over there.” Istvan pointed.
“Only the mountains.”
“No! Look harder. It’s a man...he’s glowing...radiant…”
“I see nothing. You’re having a hallucination, Commander. The shock. You’ve been worked up all day—”
“I don’t think so.”
“Let me get you inside—”
Istvan reached out his hand toward that of the resplendent figure who beckoned to him.
“Commander! Come back! Come back!” Arrhachion called frantically.
Istvan felt his feet moving of their own accord. Were there other figures behind the glowing man? Evania and the children—could it possibly be them?
“Commander!”
This day, the words formed themselves in Istvan’s mind—he heard them as clearly as if the man was speaking to him on the streets of Knossos—you shall be with me in paradise...
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Copyright 2008, Andrew M. Seddon. All rights reserved. A native of England, Andrew M. Seddon is the author of three novels (Red Planet Rising, Iron Scepter, Imperial Legions), a devotional, "Walking With the Celtic Saints", and about 100 articles and short stories. With his wife Olivia, a veterinarian, he enjoys running marathons, playing classical music, and hiking with their black German Shepherd, Finzi. His "day job" is as a staff physician at the Billings Clinic.
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